


Keep Our Bearing Straight

by Mortissimo



Series: And the World Will Live as One [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Asexuality, Developing Relationship, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortissimo/pseuds/Mortissimo
Summary: A new commander takes the helm of Atlantis, bringing new ways of doing things and new concerns. Pieces of the future begin to fall into place, though sometimes coming together has to start with coming apart.
Relationships: John Sheppard/Todd the Wraith, Michael Kenmore/Original Character(s), Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Series: And the World Will Live as One [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1276487
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Sheppard was late to a lot of things, but Ronon hadn't really expected him to be late to hand over control of the city to whoever was supposed to beam down. The original appointment was about ten minutes past by now, though apparently whatever the ship had run into between Earth and Lantea was holding it at least a little behind schedule. Nobody had technically told Ronon he had to be there, but he had to admit to an intense curiosity (personally, he was hoping for Carter back), as well as a secondary but also intense urge to have less to do with the wraith's stomach issues. He'd seemed confident that he and Keller would figure out a solution that allowed him to branch out from his current diet of yogurt and supplements, but Ronon bet against it, and unfortunately for everyone it seemed like he was right so far. It wasn't even mostly that he was grossed out by the process (although he was), it was more that Ronon didn't like seeing people he cared about in pain, and between Sheppard and the wraith, it had been a rough week. 

Speaking of… Ronon turned back toward the sound of the transporter, and sure enough it spit out a panting Sheppard, one hand pressed to his side where the rebar had gone through. 

"Did I miss it?" He gasped at Ronon, who shook his head and fought back the urge to give Sheppard an arm to lean on. Somehow he doubted Sheppard would take it in front of everyone else in the control room. 

"Ship's running late," Ronon explained, probably unnecessarily. To his surprise, Sheppard braced himself against Ronon's shoulder with his usual forced casualness, as Ronon's hands itched to help him but curled in his pockets instead. 

"Makes two of us, I guess," Sheppard observed. "I… Missed my alarm." If he'd just managed to say it like a normal person, Ronon wouldn't have blinked. Sheppard was usually a light sleeper, but healing took a lot of energy, and Ronon didn't know what painkillers Keller still had him on. But no, Sheppard had to say it like he was dancing around a secret, under his breath and flat as a plate. 

"If you didn't wanna be here, I'm sure you don't have to be." Sheppard did look up at him then, incredulous. 

"Of course I have to be. I have to know what I'm dealing with as soon as possible. And besides, it'd be… Rude. Probably." Unfortunately, Sheppard pulled his hands away to gesture at nothing in particular. It had been a few years since Ronon had been hunted for sport, but he liked to think he kept sharp as best he could, and as the movement drew his eye to Sheppard's hands, he couldn't help but notice the long white hair stuck to Sheppard's wristband. 

Huh. 

"Sleep okay last night?" Ronon asked lowly, intending to tease, but any trace of good humor dropped off of Sheppard's face immediately. Fortunately or unfortunately, that was when the column of light dropped down through the ceiling, leaving behind an unassuming little balding man in glasses, and nobody else. Sheppard, who still looked more annoyed than surprised, muttered something under his breath that didn't quite translate, and stepped forward to shake the man's hand. 

"Mr. Woolsey, welcome back. With the  _ Daedalus _ in as much of a rush as it was, I wasn't sure we'd heard that transmission right." Everyone in the control room looked about as thrilled to see Woolsey again as Ronon felt, though some hid it better than others under a veneer of professionalism. McKay, lifting his eyebrows over his shoulder at a tech Ronon didn't know, hid it not at all. 

"Thank you, Colonel," Woolsey said. "Well then…" he paused, maybe for dramatic effect, and glanced over his assembled people, but whatever he was going for, based on everyone's uncomfortable shifting, Ronon was pretty sure he didn't hit it. This was going to be hilarious, and hopefully brief. 

"I think you'd better start by bringing me up to speed on the current wraith… Situation," Woolsey said significantly to Sheppard, who nodded grimly, and it was suddenly much harder to see the humor. They both stepped toward the office overlooking the ring, and Ronon followed silently, daring the little man to stop him. Sure, Woolsey didn't look pleased when he turned around to close the door and found Ronon as well as Sheppard, but he didn't say anything about it, so Ronon counted it as a victory. Sheppard didn't look happy either, as he took the other chair, but Ronon assumed that had more to do with the situation than with him. 

"Colonel," Woolsey began, then hesitated and glanced at him, "and Ronon. I've been out of the loop between galaxies, but I'm given to understand you've formed alliances with the wraith now?" Ronon had never heard a man sound so skeptical and judgmental in one go. He looked over to exchange a look with Sheppard, but Sheppard still wasn't meeting his eyes. 

"With some wraith, yes," Sheppard said slowly. "An exile, and the one you met last time. So far. They think they ca–" Sheppard's teeth clicked shut audibly as Woolsey raised a hand to interrupt him, frowning over his glasses. 

"The same one who was a captive here before? I was under the impression that ended rather badly, why on Earth would you trust him?"

"Not on Earth," Ronon pointed out, he thought helpfully. Woolsey hadn't done a lot to endear himself to anybody on Atlantis last time, and it looked like he wasn't going to get there this time either. 

"The point stands," Woolsey said stiffly, very deliberately turning to Sheppard. "As I was saying. Why are we giving this wraith a second chance, after his first chance got Midway destroyed?"

"Well first of all, I think Midway had less to do with him than we were led to believe. And last time we did start out by getting one of his hive ships blown up, and he did everything he said he would and more regardless. The only reason we  _ thought  _ it went badly is that his remaining ships never showed up at the rendezvous after the battle, which I can't say I really blame him for, since we started the whole thing by showing up with an armed squad to a negotiation, taking him prisoner and starving him." Woolsey stared, momentarily silenced, and Ronon couldn't blame him. Sheppard, brought up short by his own vehemence, slowly lowered himself back into his chair. 

"I see," Woolsey said eventually. "Thank you, Colonel. And what about the other one you mentioned, the exile?"

"He's a geneticist. Likes humans." Ronon had periodically asked about the tattoos, over the years, but it wasn't until last week that he had gotten a straight answer, which he'd come to realize was mostly because the wraith hadn't been able to fully see the hole in his own mind where his lost partner belonged. Based on their relationship so far, Ronon had expected something like the answer he got, but he wasn't sure how much the wraith wanted a stranger knowing about his business. 

"He decided we should call him 'Schuyler.' He's able and willing to help solve pretty much all of our gene-based problems, once we get Michael back from the Genii," Sheppard explained, and just this once, Ronon kind of agreed with the sour look on Woolsey's face.

"Isn't Michael the wraith you tried to turn human, who kidnapped Teyla's people and unleashed a plague on the galaxy? I hate to sound like a broken record, but why? Why do we need to get him from anybody? Don't we want him gone?" Ronon, who had a lot of very similar questions, resisted the urge to stare at the side of Sheppard's head while Woolsey questioned him, instead staring over the man's shoulder at a recently emptied shelf. 

"Schuyler traded himself to Michael to get us Teyla back, and they seem to… Have an understanding. He says he can get Michael to help fix everything." 

"And you trust him too?" Woolsey asked incredulously. "I have to say, this is a very quick reversal. Particularly for you, Ronon." The singling out curled Ronon's face into a scowl he didn't bother to hold back for the new boss's sake. What did Woolsey know about him, or about this galaxy? 

"No. It's not. He's the reason I survived being hunted for seven years." To Ronon's surprise, Woolsey sat back in his chair, unruffled, and the uneasy feeling he was being played began to creep up Ronon's spine.

"Well then. I suppose I'd better have a chat with these wraith. How soon do you think a meeting can be arranged?" This time, Sheppard did meet Ronon's eyes, briefly, before answering Woolsey.

"Pretty much whenever, I think, since Schuyler and Todd are on Atlantis right now."

At least that got a rise out of Woolsey.


	2. Chapter 2

Cross-legged on a training mat, Teyla tried again to empty her mind and find the thin, desperate thread of Michael's thoughts. Without asking why, Jennifer had graciously volunteered to watch Torren, though Teyla doubted very much that anything could happen to Torren without her being aware of it. Michael, it seemed, had been right about at least one thing: Torren was going to at least be a match for her someday, as far as telepathy went, if not far surpassing. Already he was far louder than the occasional nightmarish and frightened brushes from his father, wherever Michael had sent him. If the treatment was going to reverse on its own, whatever had been done to him, surely it would have done so by now, but whenever Teyla reached in that direction, like a child who refused to believe a fire is hot, she was burned again and again by his fear and pain. 

This was not helping. 

Annoyed, Teyla closed her eyes again and shifted her legs under her. When she slept, her mind wandered, evidently, to a cell beneath Locus, without her input or permission, but taking the journey while asleep left her a raw nerve, and this was a conversation she needed at least one of them coherent for. But awake, all she felt was the severed tie to her people, the gaping wound where the Athosians belonged in her heart, and for obvious reasons it made it difficult to open herself deliberately to Michael. To Lastlight. What he had taken from her… 

"Oh," she said softly, to the empty room, her brow creasing in a frown. Of course. The wound  _ was _ the path, the commonality between them. 

And just like that, the connection was made. Again, she could see the heavy darkness, feel the packed dirt underneath. The underlying pain seemed less intense than previously, but Teyla knew better than to think that was a good sign for Lastlight. There was still almost no sense of self for her to connect to at all, just a collection of observations, but by now Teyla knew the mind she sought. 

_ lastlight _ , she called, and felt a shudder run through them both in answer. 

_ teyla. more lies?  _ He felt exhausted, more than half dead. 

_ no lies _ , she promised. If there was a way to let him feel the truth without the mixed feeling behind it, the hatred and the desperation alongside the pity, Teyla didn't know it, and wouldn't have done so even if she did. Lastlight took her hate like a physical blow, pressing his bruised face into the unseen dirt of his cell.  _ you will be retrieved and put to work to correct your evils. _

_ safer for everyone to just let the genii kill me now. i don't think they know who i am yet. they haven't bothered asking me anything.  _ There was a part of Teyla that delighted in the idea of Lastlight suffering pointlessly; this part she did try to hide from him. 

_ still so angry. you wonder why i don't believe you.  _ Lastlight, briefly, almost felt like laughing, but his breath ended in a wet cough that Teyla felt all the way in her chest. It would seem she had not succeeded at hiding anything from him. 

_ scholar believes you will be useful.  _ The wave of emotion that followed, as though Teyla's thoughts had been a large stone dropped into a small pond, was almost enough to knock her back out of Lastlight's mind. Joyfearpainhope, all in one tangle of feeling, each one pure and distinct among the rest.

_ he survived _ , Lastlight realized at last, and from across the galaxy Teyla could feel they had both begun to weep. 


	3. Chapter 3

Lying on his back beside Guide, their shoulders barely fitting on the narrow bed side-by-side, Scholar considered for the first time how likely they were to actually die soon. Guide had taken to sleeping through the day, waking only when one of his loves chimed at the door, and Scholar, who had never experienced emesis before that week, was hard-pressed to remember a time he  _ didn't _ feel like vomiting, or worse. Lastlight must have been able to solve this problem, or else the human doctor Beckett, but they couldn't help Beckett without Lastlight, and they couldn't help Lastlight without the permission of an Earth military commander who was far more likely to have Scholar and Guide executed. 

She was probably here by now, Scholar realized, rolling his head far enough to eye the device the humans used to measure time. 

As though summoned by Scholar's stray thought, the door chimed. Guide did not stir beside him. Carefully, Scholar pushed himself into sitting, and then to his feet, and the room tilted wildly around him regardless. If this was what it felt like to be sick, Scholar was beginning to have serious doubts about the gene therapy's viability. He edged around the bed and leaned heavily against the wall by the door, tried to clear his throat of some of the extra mucus he seemed to be accumulating like mad before he spoke. 

"Yes? Who is it?" Apparently he still sounded awful. 

"It's Colonel Sheppard. And Mr. Woolsey, the newly arrived base commander. And… Some guards. Mr. Woolsey would like to talk to you. Both of you. Separately." A chill ran through Scholar, followed by a twisting of his insides totally separate from his constant nausea. Before he could think better of it, he palmed the door open, and came more face-to-face with a guard he didn't know than with Sheppard. Something of his misgivings must have shown on his face, as the guard, who seemed to have been subtly insinuating himself between Scholar and Sheppard, did it much less subtly. Attempting to school his expression, Scholar flashed his empty (and whole) palms at the humans in the hallway, in a gesture of harmlessness as much as surrender. Behind the guard were more guards in uniform, Ronon, and a slighter human male, on the older side. Although he knew human societies showed a lesser tendency to be matriarchal, it still threw Scholar off to see males without a clear female leader. 

_ my own _ , Scholar called to Guide, and felt the response come with a syrupy sluggishness that honestly scared him. Undoubtedly, Guide's willpower was enough to refrain from attacking these people, but after he had spent so much of himself in saving Scholar, Scholar feared for Guide's life. 

_? _

_ the humans have come to interrogate us.  _ Behind, Scholar heard the rustle of cloth as Guide struggled to his feet as well. In the hallway, Ronon and Sheppard looked grim, but not fearful, and Scholar hoped that was a sign that this was going to be a conversation, and not an execution. He held out his clasped hands to the guard in front of the door, who looked taken aback for a moment, then somewhat embarrassed as he clicked the restraints around Scholar's wrists. Good. 

While the guard was distracted, Sheppard slipped through the doorway to Guide. Though his back was turned to Scholar, the human's chagrin was visible in his entire posture as he presented the wrist brace and cuffs to Guide, who silently allowed Sheppard to put them on him. When Scholar reached out again to touch the surface of Guide's mind, he found it just as viscous and sticky, drowning an eternal pit of screaming hunger deliberately under the oppressive weight of his exhaustion.

"Are they all right?" The new human, presumably Mr. Woolsey, asked one of the guards, who paused halfway through a shrug as Scholar growled under his breath. 

"You could ask  _ us _ ," he snapped, concern for Guide, as well as his own pain, momentarily outweighing all the reasons to convince this human they were harmless. 

"Fine." Mr. Woolsey straightened his spine an impossible few degrees more. "I apologize. Are you all right?" Something in Scholar settled at the apology, whether or not it was genuinely meant. One didn't apologize to animals, anyway, and Scholar had had enough of being treated like an animal. 

"We are not. He is starving to death, and I may be joining him if I cannot figure out how intestinal bacteria work." Woolsey frowned.

"I see. All the more reason to get to know one another and come to a decision as soon as possible, then." Woolsey's focus shifted as Scholar felt Guide's mind fade briefly into static, and Scholar turned in time to see Sheppard try to catch Guide as he sat, heavily and involuntarily, at the end of the bed. For a frozen moment, Sheppard cradled Guide's head in his hands, before he visibly shook himself and moved to grip Guide's shoulders. 

"This looks like more of an emergency than I realized," Woolsey observed. When Scholar turned back, he was surprised to find the human had come closer, well within grabbing distance if it hadn't been for the guard, who he was doubly surprised to find also looked concerned. 

_ can you speak?  _ Scholar asked almost involuntarily, unable to tell from the undifferentiated hum of Guide's mind alone. 

"I can speak yet," Guide confirmed aloud, if softly. To Scholar's immense relief, he opened his eyes and approximated a smile. Well. It looked like there would be no real problems with looking harmless, at least. 

"Would you mind stepping outside, Schuyler?" Woolsey asked, and Scholar fought down the urge to snarl in defense of Guide. No, this would not be how they die. If for no other reason, he could see from the white-knuckled grip Sheppard maintained on Guide's shoulder that Sheppard wouldn't let it happen without a fight, and he doubted Sheppard's men would fire on him. It was probably going to be fine. 

"My room's two doors down," Ronon pointed out, nudging the guard in the doorway aside to take Scholar's elbow. Scholar went, and the guard let him, though the clink of the short chain between his cuffs reaching its limit served to remind him that he didn't quite have the run of the place. Yet. 

Ronon had told Scholar that, for months after his arrival, he'd slept sitting up against the back wall of his room, one blanket folded under his head his only concession to comfort. Eventually, he'd pulled down the rest of the bedding into his corner, which lasted until the first time he was injured badly enough to require bed rest, and remembered the benefits of beds. Over the years, he'd apparently managed to trade up to a more reasonably sized bed for his frame, which Scholar certainly appreciated, and the bed was currently the obvious centerpiece of the room, and one of the few surfaces that didn't have pieces he'd picked up here and there scattered over it. Scholar sat at the edge of the bed and waited for the crawling of his guts to die down a bit, letting his spine unlock by degrees as the mattress dipped with Ronon's weight, and Ronon's arms folded around him. 

"I hate that guy," Ronon said contemplatively into Scholar's hair, "but I think maybe we're gonna be okay." Scholar exhaled sharply, something that could have been a laugh if he were less tense, and less sick, and less worried. 

"You have met before?" Evidently the brief spark of Guide's recognition hadn't been Scholar's imagination after all. 

"Yeah. He works for a bunch of bureaucrats back on Earth who wanna tell the military how to do their jobs. He came here to tell Carter how to do hers, what, a year ago? While Todd was on Atlantis." 

"I don't suppose they made friends," Scholar hazarded, to an amused snort from Ronon. 

"Not really. Hey, is that 'wraith humor' thing like a stock wraith joke or what?" Puzzled, Scholar glanced over his shoulder at Ronon, who gave Scholar's hand a squeeze and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh," he realized, unable to suppress a brief bubble of laughter. "The handshake. No, that was… Is… An inside joke. Our often unsuccessful last attempt at lightening the mood." Ronon snorted into Scholar's hair, and Scholar shivered pleasantly. 

"Didn't work that time."

"To tell the truth, it almost never has." 

All those years they'd never stopped trying it, at first in earnest and then later mostly because it made the other laugh. At a glance, Scholar could easily see the memory of it fresh on the surface of Guide's mind, of staring down Carter and Woolsey both, flanked by guards, in a strangely barred cell.  _ wraith humor _ , Guide had told the humans, and then, incongruously,  _ please apologize to Sheppard on my behalf _ , and then the light at the center of Scholar's galaxy collapsed abruptly to an ember, and he found himself stumbling up and out of Ronon's arms. 

"What is it?" He heard Ronon ask behind him, a second too late off the bed to keep him from barreling into the hallway. The doorway to their room was filled with guards who glanced back, apprehensive at Scholar's approach, only to fold out of his way at a barked command from inside. Dimly, as though through water, he could hear one of them speaking into their radio. Inside, Woolsey hovered anxiously near the bed, where Sheppard clutched white-knuckled at the lolling wraith body sprawled half over him. The human's face rarely gave much away in terms of emotion, but the white-lipped stare he focused into the middle distance was as eloquent as a scream.

Scholar gradually became aware that Woolsey was speaking to him.

"He's not dead," Scholar growled, as much a reminder for himself as it was for Woolsey. And Sheppard, whose eyes immediately, intently locked into him. 

"He's  _ not breathing, _ " Sheppard growled right back, for a moment his face creasing into the same bared-teeth snarl that Scholar felt. 

"He is." Not measurably by the eye, and not detectably by many instruments, but his guiding light was dimmed, not extinguished. "Sometimes hibernation is involuntary." In this state, Guide would take decades of indecision to starve to death, which Scholar would find more comforting if he hadn't heard so many stories of human indecision. Sheppard did not seem comforted at all.

Not long after that, the medical team that the guards had been calling showed up, including the increasingly exhausted-looking Dr. Keller. Scholar managed to convince the medics the best thing they could do was leave Guide where he was, unless they were going to figure out a feeding solution for him immediately. It was a little more difficult to convince Sheppard to back off as well. It was Ronon who eventually managed it, leading Sheppard carefully away by the arm, and leaving the room to Scholar, Woolsey, the unconscious Guide, and the guards. 

"I hope this wasn't anything I did," Woolsey began, then cringed a little, apparently embarrassed by letting his nervousness slip again. 

"Yes and no. Today, you? No. The inaction of the Lanteans in general while awaiting you? Yes. And, of course, primarily he did it to himself, healing me so extravagantly while reserves are undoubtedly harder to come by than ever." Feeling another wave of dizziness threaten him, Scholar took a seat at the edge of the bed and laid a hand in the center of Guide's chest, as much wishful thinking as comfort. 

"And what, exactly, would 'reserves' be? Colonel Sheppard mentioned you don't feed on humans anymore." Woolsey settled himself in the desk chair, one of the large guards beside him and another shadowing the doorway.

"Also yes and no. Now I feed on… Well, primarily yogurt," Scholar muttered with a grimace and a wave of his right hand. "For the past fifty years, I was sustained by large animals and my wraith pursuers, while he survived on intermittent Genii prisoners." At last, Scholar felt a heavy  _ thump _ under his palm, and smiled faintly down at Guide. For all that the undercurrent of Guide's sleeping thoughts told Scholar unerringly that his mind was alive, it was still comforting to be able to feel for himself the life left in his body.

"Schuyler?" Startled, he looked up, and realized he had missed a question. "I asked what you did before."

"Our human…"

"Research subjects?" Ah, so he had been informed of that. Scholar frowned. 

"Somewhere between subjects and partners. They would be safe from other hives, protected under the auspices of… Herd improvement." The difference between a lie and 'not technically' a lie could mean life or death when it came to the telepathy of queens. "We did take life from them. The older ones at first, who remembered what culling was like, and then, later, those who were easing toward death regardless, were our more common volunteers."

"People volunteered to let you suck the life out of them?" Woolsey sounded skeptical, and Scholar supposed he couldn't blame him. 

"Spread out among many, not much is needed from one." The human did not seem especially put at ease, but he did also just seem to be unusually anxious in general. 

"I see. And is that how… Todd's hive operates now?" Scholar shrugged, dropping his eyes back to Guide's face. 

"I did not ask." He could probably dredge up the answer, but now, when it was likely the difference between Guide living and dying? Scholar wasn't sure he could bring himself to. 

"I see," Woolsey said again. "All right, let's discuss Michael. He's being held captive by the Genii, correct? With whom Atlantis has, if not an alliance, at least a ceasefire? And many of whom I hear you likely killed when you crashed there." Scholar felt fabric start to give under his claws, and forced himself to relax his grip on both Guide and the bedspread. 

"We landed, deliberately, at an old fabrication facility. He was shot down trying to escape. I did not make it to the ship to be shot down." 

"Regardless, I understand you were found covered in blood, as much human as your own. And of course Michael has killed… An unknowable number, through this disease. I hope you'll understand why I'm a little skeptical of your pacifism, and of Michael's future cooperation." Guide's face was so still. Wraith are not generally as expressive as humans, but Scholar had always been able to read Guide like a text display, telepathy notwithstanding. It was strange to see him so closed-off. Scholar's claws, one by one, beat the slow rhythm that should have been beneath his palm. 

"Schuyler–"

"I heard." Scholar looked up at Woolsey. "How much do you know of the wraith? You know we are telepathic, yes? Not unintelligent enough to be hive minds, but interconnected in a way humans have difficulty conceptually extending to even their close family, let alone thousands. For millennia, we were something of a hive of two." Scholar stilled his palm momentarily on Guide's chest, to show who he meant. "Even that was strange. For most wraith, the idea of being unable to hear a chorus of a thousand voices is… An unthinkable horror. Most wraith are never alone, and those who are isolated, very rarely survive. That is something all three of us have in common–him, the one in captivity, and myself. We were all ripped from our hives by force, and we have all lost something of ourselves that we can only ever hope to approximate.

"For a human, I suppose the best analogy would be brain damage. How part of the brain will shut off with trauma, or cold, or starvation. Our brothers are a part of us, and when we are alone, we cannot be ourselves. This one–" he tapped Guide again "–is older, I hear, than writing is on your planet. He weathered it best, better than I suspect anyone else would have. But the one you call Michael? He is closest in age to Sheppard, I think. I would guess younger than you are. A rarity, among the wraith."

"You're saying we kidnapped a child and gave it brain damage." At that, Scholar did look up, frowning, but Woolsey looked serious. 

"I am saying that he has been cut off from the larger part of his soul. That he and I could only ever have been something far less than ourselves, alone, but that together, we are greater. As three, greater still." Best not to mention Teyla Emmagan's role to Woolsey before Scholar had a chance to bring it up to her himself. How she would react to being crowned was anybody's guess, for all she had been performing the role among her own people all her life. 

"And why would that benefit Atlantis?" It was more straightforward than Scholar had been expecting from Woolsey, and he blinked his surprise. 

"We are tied strongly here. We…" No, remember, Teyla Emmagan had sat where Woolsey sat now and explained the humans and their backwards ideas of personal relationships, and Ronon had filled in the gaps from there. "I love Ronon. Ronon will not turn on Atlantis. They will not turn on me. And his–"  _ tap  _ "–remaining soldiers would not turn on him."

"One person is a tenuous link."

"Then we should be allowed to get to know more of you better. And vice versa." 

Woolsey watched Scholar without speaking for two long, slow beats of Guide's heart. 

"Thank you, Schuyler. I'll let you know my decision as soon as possible." 

And then he left, leaving Scholar alone, waiting for Guide's heartbeats. 


	4. Chapter 4

The minute Ronon's door closed behind them, Sheppard was yanking out of his grip and doing his best to stomp across what little room was available. Kicking the chair also didn't look like it did him any good, but Ronon could understand the need to kick something, and Sheppard so rarely showed any kind of emotion, Ronon figured he must kind of need it. Sure enough, after a few seconds of staring, Sheppard bent, righted the chair, and sat on it instead, frowning at Ronon's wall. 

"Better?" Ronon asked, poking the panel that made the door lock. 

"No," Sheppard said shortly. "Thanks." Well, that wasn't a surprise. Ronon threw himself down on the bed instead, hands behind his head and boots hanging off the end. It wasn't like he'd dragged Sheppard in here with a plan or anything, it just seemed pretty obvious Sheppard was bound to let slip something he'd regret sooner or later if he'd stayed behind. Speaking of… 

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Sheppard did look at him then, eyebrows raised and unamused.

"Can I stop you?" Ronon did his best to shrug. 

"Could not answer. Of course, then I'll just keep assuming what I'm gonna assume, so…" Sheppard waved a hand in defeat, and Ronon decided to plow on through: "So you and Todd, huh?" Sheppard was one of the few people on Atlantis who had never been under the mistaken impression that Ronon was stupid, so Ronon didn't know why Sheppard looked so surprised by the question. 

"I'm not having this conversation," he said at last, and got about two steps toward the door before Ronon caught his wrist. 

"Hey, come on. Look at who you're talking to." Sheppard glowered silently until Ronon let go and sat down again, but at least he stayed put. "It's not like I have much room to give you crap about it." Sheppard folded his arms over his chest and considered Ronon's floor. 

"Is it obvious?" He asked tightly, not looking up. 

"Not to–" Ronon hesitated. No, it probably wasn't obvious to someone who hadn't just spent the last few years trying to figure out what Sheppard looked like when he was into someone, trying to figure out if he was into guys, then trying to figure out if he was into  _ people _ at all. It probably wasn't a good time for that conversation. "I don't think so. I know you, that's all." More or less.

"That's all, huh." To Ronon's surprise, Sheppard turned and sat next to him, dropping his elbows to his knees and scrubbing his hands furiously through his hair. "Jesus, Ronon, I came so close to losing everything. I don't even know which part they'd pick to slap on my file for the discharge."

"Hey, I'm the last person who'd tell anybody you slept with a wraith. My wraith is gonna talk Woolsey into letting Todd go home or whatever, I guess we'll pick up Michael or something, Todd can visit sometimes, it'll be fine."

"I didn't," Sheppard addressed to the ground between his feet, which took a second or two to make sense to Ronon. "I mean literally, yes, that's why I slept through the alarm that went off in my quarters where I wasn't, I just don't think I wanna do… That." Maybe it was time for that conversation after all. Ronon wasn't gonna get a better opening.

"Can I ask you another personal question?"

"You might as well," Sheppard sighed, and Ronon decided to ignore his tone and ask anyway.

"Is there anybody you  _ do _ wanna 'do that' with?" Slowly, Sheppard raised his head, his discomfort with the topic apparently briefly overcome by his surprise at the question.

"Are you asking… On Atlantis?"  _ Yes, please _ , Ronon thought, but that wasn't really the question he'd been stewing over.

"No, I mean at all."

"You met my ex-wife, Ronon," Sheppard said slowly, and Ronon raised an eyebrow right back at him.

"That isn't an answer,  _ John _ ." Sheppard was the first to drop eye contact, looking across Ronon's room with an overly casual shrug.

"Sure, of course." Now that  _ was  _ an answer, even if it was neither the answer Ronon had wanted nor the one Sheppard had tried to give. 

"Like who?" 

"You don't know her," Sheppard snapped. "I think I'm definitely done with this conversation now." Ronon gestured wordlessly to the door, and Sheppard went to it, smacked it open, and was gone without a backwards look.

Maybe it hadn't been time for that conversation.


	5. Chapter 5

Teyla was beginning to worry she had opened a door she didn't know how to close. Where the specter of Lastlight had haunted her dreams before, now that he had regained some of his sense of self, he seemed to be invading her waking world as well. In dark corners, when she wasn't looking head-on, she would catch glimpses of huddled limbs, close-cropped white hair, staring yellow eyes. Most of the time, when she turned to face them, the visions vanished, but every so often she would catch the wraith's eye, and he would slowly nod to her before he vanished. 

It could only have been a few days, at most, since Lastlight had learned of Scholar's survival, but it felt like it had been weeks. As though sensing his mother's discomfort, or even Lastlight's, Torren was slow to sleep and quick to awaken again at the slightest sound or movement. Being apart from Teyla seemed to make it worse, and whoever she asked to watch him came to find her too soon for her to have gotten any rest, concerned at her child's well-being. 

Enough was enough.

"We are working on it," she snapped at last, at what should have been an empty corner of her closet, where she could feel the wraith's presence in her mind, cold and desperate. 

There was a long enough silence that Teyla began to hope that this time she had imagined him. 

_ are you _ , Lastlight asked at length, the skepticism almost tangible in the air between them. 

"I am not," she conceded, finding it a little easier to address him aloud. It felt a little less like arguing with herself. "But the Earth commander is negotiating for your release."

_ negotiating? _ There was a chilly crackle that only barely felt like laughter.  _ that doesn't sound much like earth _ . 

"He is different. Not military. But in his way, he is trying." Teyla had not sat in on any of the conferences, too concerned for both her son and her own appearance of sanity to risk the proceedings, but it seemed like a good sign that Ladon had agreed to meet with Richard on Atlantis. He likely wasn't even angling for another ill-conceived takeover of the city. 

_ weir wasn't military either, and look where she got you.  _ Teyla twisted her fingers into the sheets under her, trying to bite back the urge to throw something at a ghost. 

"Do you want help or not?" She asked instead, and felt the blow land exactly where she'd wanted it to. "Then do not insult those I have lost." 

_ don't speak to me of loss _ . Lastlight may have intended her to hear it, or he may not, but she did hear, and fists clenched, Teyla turned to face the wraith at last, an alien part of her enjoying the rare chance to tower over him as he seemed to curl deeper into her closet.

"Yes, we did terrible things to you, and no, perhaps a human cannot understand what you have been through, but what  _ you _ have done to  _ me  _ brings me as close to understanding as a human can be." From deep within, Teyla drew out the last time she had dared touch the mind of Torren's father and namesake, threw it at Lastlight's feet like a challenge. Cringing away, he hid his face against his knees, but Teyla could see by his shuddering that he had felt her horror, and that small, ugly part of her was pleased. 

"Was that what you wanted?" She hissed, flexing her fingers to unclench them. Lastlight didn't look at her. 

_ it was _ . Telepathy allowed for both greater nuance and greater clarity of meaning: 'it was' was notably not 'it is.'

"And if I had come to you for help, after everything we have done to one another, would you lift a finger to help me as we are helping you?" The tight line of Lastlight's shoulders loosened and he raised his head, dragging his gaze only as far as her feet. Teyla had meant the question to be rhetorical, another weapon in their argument, and he must have felt her intention, but Lastlight still seemed to be considering.

In his long silence, even Torren was still. 

_ yes _ , Lastlight answered at last, and Teyla shook under the weight of everything behind the single word.  _ i did, and i would have, and i would again.  _


	6. Chapter 6

For the first few days (days!) of negotiating, John had been able to rein in what some had referred to in his lifetime as an inability to keep his mouth shut. As the current military commander of Atlantis, he had a place at the table, but as someone who had justifiably kicked Radim's ass before, John wasn't sure any side commentary would be appreciated. It was, however, coming up on a full week of arguments, and John wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself back much longer. 

Behind him, he heard the sound of the balcony doors  _ woosh _ ing open, and pushed his spine back into something nearing military alignment. When Woolsey came smiling into John's peripheral vision, hands resting lightly on the railing a few feet from John's white-knuckled grip, John let himself relax just a hair. It had been a very long week. 

"Another beautiful day in the Pegasus Galaxy," Woolsey said, and the worst part was, John didn't even think he was being sarcastic. After a few moments of silence, Woolsey turned to him, looking faintly puzzled. 

"I can't tell if you're worried I'm going to fail, or worried I'm going to succeed," Woolsey tried again, and this time John did turn to look at him. He wasn't sure what his face looked like, but he suspected it was the same expression he caught in the bathroom mirror every morning lately, and it probably wasn't especially friendly. 

"Call it a little of both," John said, instead of any of that. It wasn't really a lie, even if it wasn't his primary concern. Every night on his way to bed, he would stop outside the wraith's quarters, and sometimes he could almost swear he felt Todd's presence inside, tugging him closer by a hook lodged behind his ribs, but every night John couldn't quite bring himself to go inside. He could picture it clearly enough in his head: Todd still and cold as a statue, Schuyler curled on his chest like a widow on a tomb. He didn't need to see it. 

"Well, don't worry. I don't see this lasting more than a few more days, and that's assuming Mr. Radim manages to dig up another demand he hasn't mentioned yet." John wasn't sure he managed to hold back the grimace. Judging from Woolsey's expression, he hadn't. Was it really going to be  _ days _ ? Did Todd even  _ have _ days? Schuyler said he did, but Schuyler looked like he was fading fast as well, so who really knew. 

"Like what, Atlantis? Haven't you promised them enough already?" Woolsey's frown deepened.

"Most of what I've offered is chemotherapy and other cancer treatments, Dr. McKay agreed to consult on better internal shielding for their generators, the quantity of C-4 they asked for is less than we have on hand just at the moment, and they've agreed to drop their requests for a Puddlejumper for increased cooperation, which is what we needed anyway. All of which is more than reasonable. I don't understand what your objections are." John let his head drop between his shoulders, staring down at the city and the glittering ocean below. It really was a beautiful day.

"I just want to get this over with," John muttered. The sooner Michael was sorted out, the sooner they could work on finding help for Todd, whether that meant taking away his need to feed, or whatever. 

"You know, I don't need you here for this." John raised his head to stare incredulously at Woolsey, who stared back unperturbed. "In fact, it might help if you weren't. I'm sure you noticed some of the Genii are nervous around you." John smiled thinly. He had. 

"I just want to make sure you don't give the whole station away. Sir." That was probably exactly the tone he shouldn't be using with his new boss, but he hadn't been using it with the Genii, and John felt he was due. Woolsey didn't blink. 

"Colonel Sheppard, this is what I do. You've made it extremely clear that this is not what you do, so maybe you should stop doing it."

"I can't just not do anything," John snapped, pushing himself back from the railing. 

"Then what do you want to do?" 

"Honestly?" Woolsey nodded, though again it wasn't really a question. "I want to take Todd home, where he can actually get help."

"Back to his hive? Do you think that's safe?" 

"As much as anything is. I wouldn't ask anyone to go with me." For the first time since he'd first hoped he was mishearing the transmission from  _ Daedalus _ identifying the new base commander, John had a glimmer of hope that maybe he could work with Woolsey after all. 

"Take Ronon with you and come back in under a week." John froze. "It takes two to carry a stretcher and watching both of you worry is making me worry. I'm sure this whole business will be concluded by the time you get back."  _ Until the next threat _ , John thought, a little bleakly. He hadn't spoken to Ronon since the night Todd had passed out, and he didn't relish the idea of having the same conversation again. After a few days to think about things, it wasn't like John was especially angry anymore, he just didn't see how it was any of Ronon's business who John was or wasn't attracted to, unless… 

Well, it wasn't any of Ronon's business. 

"Yes sir," John said, and this time, he almost meant it. 


	7. Chapter 7

Scholar didn't know how a mattress that thin had managed to gain lumps, but the mattress under his back was somehow both thin and lumpy. A respectable distance above, the ceiling also hadn't changed from the same flat blue-gray it was an hour ago, when John and Ronon had taken Guide away. It was a good plan, probably the only way to get Guide help without sacrificing anybody's morals, and Scholar understood why he couldn't watch them step through the ring while the Genii were an open door away and arguing over Lastlight's future, but that didn't mean Scholar had to like it. 

Scholar did not like it. 

They had left in what seemed to be fairly early morning, under the assumption that the Genii would either not be awake, or not be awake enough to ask questions about why the military commander of Atlantis was helping walk an apparently dead body through the ring. Scholar could already feel his grasp on time start to soften and stretch; he was still fairly certain it was the same day that they had gone, but the longer time moved on, the less sure his certainty was. 

With effort, Scholar pushed himself up out of bed, and was a little grateful when the room didn't so much as spin around him. Progress. Jennifer had decided to try limiting his diet to only foods he could keep down, which amounted to mostly yogurt, and that seemed to be going well, although Jennifer was a little concerned about nutritional needs. Not that anybody knew what those looked like for a wraith. She had also apologized for the lack of variety and Scholar, amused, had reminded her that he had subsisted on the same thing for 8000 years. Jennifer hadn't laughed, but she'd also seemed to be falling asleep on her feet, so Scholar was willing to blame exhaustion. 

"– _ yler _ ?" The radio in Scholar's hand crackled, and he blinked down at it in confusion, then back up at the door inches from his face. A cursory glance backward confirmed that he still hadn't left his quarters, though a much more alarming interpretation suggested maybe he had gone and come back already. 

" _ Should we send a team down _ ?" Woolsey asked, muffled as though he was holding the radio away from his face. Asking someone else. Scholar frowned.

"I am here," he said into the radio. He'd hoped to have a little longer before he started losing time again, but that hope didn't seem to be panning out. 

" _ Oh good _ ," Woolsey said, then more quietly, " _ at least  _ somebody _ is. _ " 

"Is there a problem?" Keeping the conversation going felt important. Easier to keep hold of the thread when it was continuous.

" _ I hope not. You said you were on your way to the infirmary? The Genii just started dialing the gate, Michael should be there any minute. _ " Scholar's heart leapt into his throat. 

"Yes, I am. Just a moment." Scholar palmed the door open and took off at a pace slightly less alarming than a run. He couldn't claim to have a complete understanding of Atlantis, and he definitely didn't have the run of the place yet, but Scholar was extremely familiar by now with the most unobtrusive path to the infirmary. 

By the time Scholar stepped out of the last transporter, the infirmary was already bustling. In addition to the cloud of medical personnel, the number of guards standing around looking grim and anxious was much higher than Scholar had gotten used to. It didn't seem as though Jennifer had made it up yet, but given how tired she had been the last time Scholar remembered seeing her (and how long ago was that?), it was probably good she was catching up on her sleep. Shifting from foot to foot, Scholar hovered at the edge of the crowd until it died down, enough for him to see the heavy restraints locking Lastlight's twisted and bleeding hands to the bars of the bed. Slowly, carefully, after what felt like decades apart, Scholar reached forward to brush their palms together, and Lastlight's eyes cracked open. 


	8. Chapter 8

Ronon didn't know why he agreed to this. It had clearly been a request, rather than an order, and coming from Sheppard those were usually genuine requests, and not just traps like with most COs. On the other hand, it was painfully obvious that Sheppard was going to go through with the plan even if he had to drag Todd around with zero assistance or backup whatsoever. It was equally obvious that most of Woolsey's support for the plan came from a need to get Ronon and Sheppard out of his hair (so to speak) while he argued with the Genii, which Ronon couldn't really blame him for. They'd both been visibly itching for something to do, having been essentially grounded since they'd been buried under Michael's lab, and Sheppard's silence after their previous… Disagreement… Hadn't helped to calm anybody's nerves. 

So here they were. 

His wraith hadn't been able or willing to contact Todd's hive directly, but after a few hours of what looked from the outside like intense napping, he was able to pull a ring address out of the depths of Todd's comatose brain. It wasn't going to lead them right to the hive, unless their timing was very exact, but to what he referred to delicately as a 'resupply station.' His wraith hadn't approved of the term 'wraith worshipper,' but had eventually conceded that yes, the people there fit the criteria of allowing themselves to be fed on in exchange for protection. The odds of the actual hive being on the planet were slim to none, but there would almost certainly be some kind of wraith presence there, and Ronon was not looking forward to the inevitable getting captured and frisked part of this mission. 

It was nice out, at least, as they stepped out of the ring on the other side. The ring was in what looked like a clearing in the woods, with a brick-paved path winding its way through the ferns and the evergreens. It was warm, but not hot, and the sunlight filtering down through the trees shone brightly off the strained grin of the one-woman welcoming committee. 

"Welcome, travelers, to Salice." The chair behind her looked well-worn, and the gun behind it was almost hidden, as were the books stacked beside. "We have so few visitors. Tell me, what brings Lanteans to our doorstep?" Though Ronon could only see the back of Sheppard's head, he knew exactly the shade of equally unconvincing smile Sheppard was turning on the poor guard. 

"We were hoping to speak to your leaders, actually. We have a… Medical issue. That we think they might be able to help out with." Todd, at Ronon's height and a little shy of his build, did not look light, and was in fact heavier than he looked. Ronon could feel his palms beginning to sweat under the gentle sunlight, and tried to look nonthreatening. He could see the minute the guard glanced at the size and shape of their covered burden, and he could just as easily see the moment alarm bells started ringing in her head. She looked at them, looked at Todd under the sheet, looked at the empty ring, and Ronon practically felt her fingers itching to reach for her weapon. 

"You wish to speak to the village healers? I have doubts that our humble skills could rival the resources of the city of Atlantis." This could last all day, but Ronon's patience, and his grip, would not. 

"Not your healers," he cut in, "your keepers." Sheppard twisted to glare at him, but Ronon was already reaching out to pinch the sheet between two fingers and  _ pull _ , as hard as he could without dropping the whole stretcher. The sheet only slid a few inches, exposing the top of Todd's head down to his eyes, but that was more than enough. The guard's hands flew to her mouth, and for one jarring second Ronon was afraid she might burst into tears.

"Oh merciful stars, no! Is he…" 

"No," Sheppard said, "or maybe yes. He's not dead, just… Hungry." 

"Yes, we were told he might be, but I never expected it would go this far. And so quickly! He must have gone to heal an army!" With that, she turned and began down the path, abandoning books, chair and gun all together. Apparently they really didn't get many visitors here. 

A few steps into the woods, the guard called over her shoulder for them to follow, and Ronon and Sheppard did. The village she led them to was small and sweet, mostly thatched-roof cottages with a taller tower at the center of town, apparently built from the same brick as the path from the ring. It was this building the guard led them to, straight through the village, leaving a path of gasps and whispering behind them. Nobody had started shooting yet, but the distraught hubbub was pretty audible and just getting louder, so it seemed like it was only a matter of time. Ronon deeply regretted that both of his hands were full. 

Reaching the tower, the guard yanked open the wooden door and gestured Sheppard and Ronon inside.

"Here," she urged, "set the commander on any bed. Dailis!" Across the room, a curly blond head popped up from behind a console. The entire room was like stepping through the ring onto another world. Outside, the weather was warm and sunny, the houses neat and hand painted with flowers and animals. Inside, there were no windows, the only light glowing dimly from the consoles and what Ronon had to assume were empty stasis pods, lining the inside of the tower in a continuous spiral upward. 

"Ronon," Sheppard cut into his staring with a tug at his side of the stretcher. Ronon followed to what was apparently the nearest bed, a low, purplish platform that didn't look like it had any give to it, but was clearly shaped in the indentation of a tall humanoid body. Setting the stretcher on the ground, they managed to wrestle Todd up onto the thing, just as Dailis finished his conversation with the guard and stumbled to a stop.

"Is he…"

"Not dead," cut in the guard, "just exhausted. Did you send a message?" Dailis nodded.

"Of course Alera, it's not  _ my  _ first day. The lieutenant is returning. They should be back in the system in a matter of days."

"Will he last days like this?" This question was directed at Sheppard, who hadn't quite managed to move his hands off of Todd's shoulders yet. He glanced up and seemed to take a moment to process the question. 

"Oh, sure. Apparently he'll keep for decades. Let's just hope the, uh, lieutenant doesn't decide to take any three-hour tours on the way." Alera and Dailis looked at Ronon for clarification, but he shrugged. Whatever Sheppard was referencing wasn't something they'd shown him yet. 

"The lieutenant is very loyal," Alera said slowly, as though explaining loyalty to a child. "As we all are. He would not leave the commander in this state any longer than he had to." 

"Of course not," Sheppard agreed, sliding his hands into his pockets. He kept looking at Todd though, the way he had been since the wraith showed up. "We should…"

"Stay," Dailis interjected. "Just until the lieutenant's shuttle arrives." Alera looked at least as startled as Ronon felt, and he could see Sheppard's expression settling into the grimace that new people thought was supposed to be a smile. 

"I don't know if that's–"

"You are Sheppard, are you not?" Dailis asked. Of its own volition, Ronon's hand went to his holster. Sheppard seemed similarly alarmed, in his own low-key way, but he didn't reach for his own weapon. 

"How would you know that?" Sheppard asked weakly, taking a seat on the bed behind him as though his legs were giving out. He didn't seem able or willing to take his eyes off of Todd. 

"So you  _ are _ Sheppard?" Alera slid starry-eyed onto the weird purple thing next to Sheppard, and slowly Ronon let his hand fall to his side. These kids didn't want a fight, they looked like they wanted Sheppard's autograph. 

"Let's say he is," Ronon said, to Sheppard's visible horror. "What have you heard?"

"Is it true that you rescued the commander? When he first returned to us, he said he owed his life to a human named 'Sheppard.' So it is thanks to you that we are under his protection again?" Ronon gave him a moment to answer, but Sheppard was right back to staring at Todd like he expected the wraith to stand up and explain himself then and there. 

"What do you mean, protection?" Ronon asked. "They keep the rest of the wraith off of you, in exchange for a few–"

"A few years," Dailis cut in coldly, his expression darkening. "A few years, taken in turns from everyone in the settlement, and for the most part returned in case of injury, and in exchange we live happier, safer, and  _ longer _ lives than anyone else in the galaxy. We are allowed and encouraged to flourish, so long as we do not grow so far as to draw the attention of enemy hives, and for that we have the protection and the friendship of beings who will outlive any of us by thousands of years. Since the return of the commander, we have experienced a renewal of the peace and prosperity spoken of by the mothers of our mothers. A few moments of pain are more than worthwhile." 

"And what does old age look like to you people?" Suspicion had kept Ronon alive for seven years of running through hell, and something about Solice didn't sit right with him. He knew the wraith brainwashed their followers into dying for them, and the fact that they'd exiled his wraith only went to prove his wraith's uniqueness. Todd may be their ally for the time being, but Ronon wasn't so stupid as to believe anything about this place was real. 

"Our people live to see a hundred cycles around our sun," Alera said, frowning right back at Ronon, "though in the time of our mothers' mothers, the wraith would choose friends who lived hundreds of cycles by their sides." 

"We thought that was what you were," Dailis told Sheppard, and Ronon felt a well-worn smoothness over his heart itch. 

"I don't know what I am," Sheppard muttered. It seemed to shake him out of his trance, at least, and he squinted at Alera instead of down at Todd. "We sort of rescued each other. He  _ was _ down there longer than me, so I guess I did rescue him a little more." 

"Well," Ronon said, after a silence that had stretched on way too long, "this has been nice, but like Sheppard was saying, we gotta–" 

"Accept," Sheppard interrupted swiftly, meeting Ronon's eyes for what felt like the first time in weeks. "We gotta accept your very generous invitation." From the movement of his eyebrows, Sheppard was trying to convey some thought telepathically to Ronon, but since neither of them was telepathic, all Ronon got out of it was annoyed. 

"Fine," Ronon replied through his teeth. "We'll stay. That's great."

He didn't think they bought it.


	9. Chapter 9

For the first time in what had felt like a lifetime, Lastlight awoke without pain. Though he could feel bands of metal close around his wrists, the surface he lay on felt soft and clean, and through his eyelids he was aware of movement and light. Atlantis. It had to be. 

The next thing that drifted up through his consciousness was a weight against his leg, and with it, the soft hum of a presence he had thought lost to his mind forever. Without thinking about it, he moved to reach out, but the cuffs around his wrists caught up short with a  _ clank _ . 

_ lastlight _ . Clipped and contained, it was not the voice he was expecting. When Lastlight opened his eyes, it was Teyla he saw first, looming much larger at the foot of his bed than her small frame should have allowed for. Her cold stare tripped a deep instinct in him, and had he not been bound, Lastlight knew he would have given her the deep bow due a queen. 

At the bottom of the bed, curled in unobtrusive contrast despite his size, Scholar lay with his head on his folded arms, half across Lastlight's legs, by all appearances whole and hale. 

_ lastlight _ , Teyla called him again. To his surprise she felt lighter, if not exactly friendly, though as he looked up at her, he found her stare as monolithic as before.  _ you have been given as sincere an apology as I can manage for the wrongs that have been done to you.  _

_ thank you,  _ he began, but Teyla shook her head sharply. 

_ i am not finished. your apology will be to repair the wrongs that  _ you _ have done to this galaxy, and to my people, and if i ever see you near my son, i will kill you, and nobody will blame me.  _ Lastlight did bow then, his head heavy under the weight of Teyla's hatred, bandaged hands grating painfully against the metal cuffs. He kept his head down as the searing cold of her presence passed, and faded into the distance, leaving behind the background noise of the infirmary, and one muzzy, awakening confusion. 

" _ Lastlight _ ?" Scholar sang, with a joy he couldn't ever remember hearing from his name before. 

" _ Scholar _ ," he rasped back in clumsy harmony, even as he cringed at the harshness in his own voice. It would seem that alternating screaming with silence had not been kind to him. From the sound of it, he was not in his own room, and though someone had rolled curtains around the narrow bed, through them he could see shadows of guards nearby.  _ are we both prisoners here? _

_ i am not… really…  _ Lastlight could feel that Scholar meant it, at least. No, he was not free, but no, he did not feel like a prisoner. With a caution that Lastlight appreciated, Scholar cradled Lastlight's bandaged and bound hand.  _ you… are and are not. i do not believe you will be free here, but since when has home meant freedom to a wraith? _ Scholar bent over Lastlight's hand, braid slipping over one shoulder to thump against Lastlight's leg, and kissed his fingers, carefully, at the tips where there used to be claws, at the backs where there used to be bone plates. With each kiss came a washed-out and guilty flash of memory, of gunfire and gray uniform, of screaming and blood. Lastlight was not so gracious that he didn't feel a deep satisfaction at the idea of Scholar slicing a swath through his captors, though for Scholar's sake he at least tried a little to suppress it. 

_ i should have known _ echoed in Lastlight's skull, anguished, and with effort he turned his hand until he could press his palm flat to Scholar's. 

_ we are alive, and we are together,  _ he reminded Scholar.  _ you brought me home.  _


	10. Chapter 10

John stared hard at the slivers of floor planks he could see between his fingers, and wondered when exactly his life had come to this. Obviously, things had started to go downhill the moment he stepped through the stargate… Or maybe earlier than that, when he'd gotten assigned to Antarctica. Or before that, in Afghanistan. Maybe when he'd opted for the military after Stanford? Somehow, there must have been a place he could have stepped off the path and not ended up here, having carried the comatose body of his alien… Something… To an alien planet, where he had to endure not only the overwhelming hospitality of the other human friends of his alien whatever, but also this final straw. This cozy little room and its big cozy bed, apparently the only accommodations for human guests in the settlement. And of course it was his idea to stay, so it wasn't like he could have refused after seeing the room they offered him and Ronon. 

"I can sleep on the floor if you're gonna make it weird," Ronon offered with maybe a little glee. The bed frame shifted slightly under John as Ronon sat at the other end. 

"I think that was their plan," John pointed out, scrubbing his hands up over his forehead and into his hair. It was a nice floor, from this angle. Clean. John and Ronon had both slept on worse.

"And I thought our plan was to drop Todd off and leave." 

"That was when I was expecting a cult, not… The Lollipop Guild." Ronon made that noise he made instead of laughing. 

"Kinda tall, but I can see it." At that, John did look up, to find Ronon grinning at him from closer than he'd expected. 

"I always forget which movies we've made you and Teyla watch, and it startles me every time." Against his better judgment, John could feel his face threatening to split into a smile of its own. People who didn't really know Ronon tended to take one look at his massive shoulders and his whole fur trapper thing and figure they had him made, but underneath it all, when you really got to know him, Ronon was just a big teddy bear. Who was still very, very good at killing people. 

John was definitely smiling back at Ronon. 

"So you're really gonna make me sleep on the floor?" Ronon asked out of the blue, after maybe one or two more moments of silence than most people would consider comfortable. John sighed and flopped over onto his back. God, even the ceiling was all exposed timbers and charm. This place was terrifying. 

"No, I'm not." The mattress rustled as Ronon, presumably, flopped down beside him. 

"Good. Promise I won't make it weird."

It was, of course, already weird. 


	11. Chapter 11

While Scholar understood, tactically, why the Lanteans were leery of leaving Lastlight and him alone in their own room, that didn't mean he had to make their guards comfortable. The medics, at least, were used to Scholar's presence in the infirmary by now, though he didn't know many of them by name yet, beyond the curiously absent Jennifer. The guards he had spoken to even less, and for the moment he was just fine with that. They both kept glancing over their shoulders whenever Scholar would stand, or laugh, or kiss Lastlight's hand. He couldn't read their expressions, but he did remember the puzzling conversations he'd had with the Lanteans about their personal relationships, and the guards looked less than pleased to be there. The one in the leg brace, in particular. Well, let them. 

Lastlight had slipped back into sleep an hour or so ago, but Scholar hadn't felt any real need to be elsewhere. Part of it, he had to admit at least to himself, was less that he didn't trust the Lanteans' word concerning Lastlight, and more that he didn't trust their history. It seemed unfortunately plausible, given everything he'd heard from both parties, that the moment Scholar turned his back, Lastlight might gone, either whisked away by the Lanteans for further experimentation or escaped to plot their doom. 

"No more of that," Scholar murmured, carefully patting the back of Lastlight's hand and letting the contact linger. Altered genome or not, sleep was maybe the second-best healer of wraith, and the shifting of bone beneath the bandages had nearly come to a stop. 

Behind Scholar, someone cleared their throat. 

"Sorry to interrupt," Woolsey said, as Scholar turned toward him. "I was hoping to speak to our new… Guest. Is he…?" Woolsey gestured without elaborating. 

"Merely sleeping," Scholar said, which seemed to be the answer Woolsey was looking for, but a rill of amusement and a twitch of the hand under his proved otherwise. 

"Not even that," Lastlight croaked. "I've become something of a light sleeper." Scholar frowned down at their joined hands, separated by the bandages and brought up short by the restraints. 

"Well, I hope in time we may learn to be comfortable around one another. My name is Richard Woolsey, and I am the leader of this expedition. Welcome… Back to Atlantis." 

"I must admit, it's going better than the first few times, but that's not saying much."  _ i have never seen this man before in my life.  _

_ he has only recently arrived from earth _ , Scholar explained

"I'm sorry for that," Woolsey said bluntly, and Scholar almost believed him, though Lastlight tangibly did not. "We don't know very much about your people, most of which I'm sure is by design, but we have done very badly by you, and now we know that." Woolsey paused to take a breath, and Lastlight's grip tightened on Scholar's hand. 

_ i think he might mean that _ . Lastlight's astonishment was a golden glimmer of light Inna dark landscape. 

_ i have tried to better explain your circumstances _ . 

_ thank you. _

"None of which, of course, forgives what you have done to this galaxy in response. A large part of the agreement with the Genii for your release was contingent on your working with us to undo what you have done. Are you willing to do that?" 

Before Lastlight could crush it, Scholar felt the flashfire heat of shock, threaded in rare, precious hope. What Woolsey threatened him with, after all, was a prison, but it was also a home. A promise and a threat in one. Not so different for living under the power of a conquering queen. 

"I cannot bring back the dead," Lastlight said haltingly. Woolsey nodded. 

"Obviously nobody is expecting miracles, but we expect to return the Athosians to their former state, and we wouldn't mind an end to the Hoffan plague." Lastlight bared his teeth in a grimace. 

"The plague may be beyond my control," he admitted. "But it will be a fascinating puzzle." Scholar ducked his head to hide a smile. 

"I have faith in your ability to improvise in adverse circumstances. By the way," Woolsey barreled on, "is it all right if we continue to call you 'Michael?'" Lastlight paused, turning his face to the ceiling, and Scholar watched the argument play out over his thoughts.

"I think I can live with that," he said finally, and Woolsey smiled. 

"Glad to hear it. Dr. Keller should be by soon to check on your condition, and when you're ready, we can see about putting you to work."


	12. Chapter 12

If there was a dark heart to Solice, Ronon couldn't find it. They'd been there for two nights, and from the sound of it, they wouldn't need to be there for a third. Dailis was apparently in charge of maintaining communications with Todd's hive, and every day he'd offered the same report that the lieutenant's cruiser was moving steadily toward them. Alera, as it happened, was the youngest daughter of one of the settlement's elders, and was all too eager to give up her guard duty to play tour guide. So Sheppard and he had followed her around most of the past few days, in between community mealtimes that bordered on the excessive. It seemed like most of the village had heard about Sheppard, and by the second day, the rest had caught up, and Ronon was getting sick of the joke. 

As for Ronon, the locals mostly ignored him, which he was grateful for. The first full day, Sheppard had gotten trapped by a circle of children asking for stories and Ronon, ignoring Sheppard's eyes pleading for a rescue, had abandoned him there. He'd walked in a spiral outward from the village, stepping silently through the foliage, but he found nothing. No secret caves, no bunkers, no army lying in wait, no mass graves. Just the pleasant little cluster of cottages with its central tower. 

When he'd returned, hours later as the sun was sinking below the horizon, he was met by Alera at the outskirts of town, more concerned than suspicious. 

"We thought you might have gotten lost," she'd said with a sincere frown, and part of Ronon had actually felt bad for worrying her. Fortunately, she was easily reassured, and had led him back to Sheppard, who had moved on to telling stories for the adults, and looked like he had given up hope of escape and most of his will to live. 

All of this brought Ronon to the inescapable but incomprehensible conclusion that Solice really was a peaceful, happy wraith feeding ground.

"This place doesn't make any damn sense," he finally complained to Sheppard, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the darkened ceiling of their room. 

"You're telling me. This is like meeting the family times a hundred." Sheppard sighed audibly and rolled to face Ronon, close enough in the dark that Ronon could still make out his eyes. "Thanks for abandoning me, by the way. I thought you were supposed to be my backup."

"If things go bad, sure. This is weird, not bad." 

"It really isn't, is it." This close, Ronon could feel Sheppard's breath on his face, could smell the herbed wine they'd both drunk at dinner. 

"If there's something wrong here, I can't find it," Ronon confessed. 

"He did say he loved humans, I just wasn't picturing a whole village of them." 

"What did you think he meant?" Sheppard fell silent. Ronon turned to look at him, assuming he'd fallen asleep, but Sheppard was still wide-awake and looking at him, close enough to share breath. 

"Why does this matter so much to you? Not this, the planet, I get that, but me. My… Relationship." Ronon had never outgrown this twisting in the pit of his stomach, and at this rate, it was safe to assume he never would. Butterflies, the Earth people called them. Whatever those were. 

"I've been trying to figure out what you like for years," he said honestly, turning on his side to mirror John. "I gotta say, this wasn't my first guess." John laughed shortly, barely more than an exhalation ghosting over Ronon's lips. 

"What if I don't know?" If there was any background noise to speak of, if they had been any further apart, Ronon might not have heard the whispered question, but the Solice night was silent, and they were close enough Ronon could almost feel the movement as John licked his lips anxiously. 

"Figure it out as you go along." Slowly, like he was trying not to spook one of those big animals John's family raised, Ronon curved his hand around the line of John's jaw. He could feel John's pulse leaping under his fingertips, which was kind of a comfort, because John's expression didn't give much away, and if Ronon's heart was beating any harder, it'd be audible. 

"I should talk to him about this," John murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. But he didn't move away. Didn't move at all. 

"Okay," Ronon agreed. "Can I kiss you?" Under his thumb, the corner of John's mouth was warm and damp. 

Painstakingly slowly, but clearly, John dipped his head in a nod. 

Ronon shifted the last few inches closer and kissed him, open and sweet, heavy with years of waiting. He let himself get lost in it, a little, tongue sliding against blunt teeth, shuddering breaths, until finally he registered the pressure against his chest as something other than a caress, and let John push him gently back. 

"Sorry," he said, but John's hand didn't move, and John's eyes stayed closed. 

"Rain check," John muttered, still a little out of breath. "Not a no, I just…" Ronon rolled onto his back and nodded, hair scraping against the pillow. 

"Rain check," he agreed, smiling at the ceiling as John's hand stayed planted over his heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> Nope the summary wasn't a double entendre, sorry if I got anybody excited.
> 
> Yes I think I did warn it's a multiship mess, and here we go with that 
> 
> Nobody's going to sleep with Woolsey because he reminds me of my dad, so if that's a deal breaker then consider the deal broken 
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr as whollyunnecessary if you like... Stuff... I don't post about Stargate very much.


End file.
